


Of Shower and Picnic

by trajektoria



Series: Of Consulting Detectives and Their Son [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Petting the dog, Picnic, Sherlock sulks for a while, but everything is fine in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: When adult snuggles are cut short by Hamish's terrible timing, only a shower can save the day. And the picnic, of course.  With an addition of a dog.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. You're the best!
> 
> The fic was inspired by [this](http://addignisherlock.tumblr.com/post/140347885816/john-and-sherlock-and-happy-fluff-at-the/) beautiful picture.

Saturday. A blissful day when most people can sleep in and enjoy their well-earned rest after a long and strenuous working week. Who if not John deserved such a treat? A doctor, an assistant of the world's greatest detective, a husband and a father – all of these functions equally important and equally exhausting, but all the same bringing him unspeakable joy and satisfaction. Still, he would have been even happier if his bloody inner biological clock hadn’t woken him up at six o’clock sharp on the warm and bright morning of his free day. 

John groaned, taking his gaze off the alarm clock on the nightstand and running his hand down his worn-out face. It was the worst time of day, when it was too early to stand up and get dressed and too late to lay on your other side and get back to sleep. His brain had done a nasty number on him. 

John sighed and turned his head towards the warm body curled up right next to him. He smiled. Every cloud had a silver lining, he guessed. Being able to revel in the sight of the love of his life in deep slumber wasn’t an everyday occurrence. The night before, John had fallen asleep in an empty bed because Sherlock had some extremely important experiments to conduct and stayed up at least till 3 am. Nothing new here. How the detective could function on such a minimal amount of sleep was one of the universe’s biggest mysteries, one that John would probably never be able to figure out. But right now Sherlock was fast asleep, his cheek pressed against the pillow, his shapely lips slightly parted. This time he wasn’t salivating on the fabric like a couple nights before. Of course Sherlock insisted that he had never done such a thing, almost taking mortal offence at John’s smirks. Thankfully, a few praises and a dozen kisses got the oncoming huff under control.

John chuckled silently. Sherlock was an absolutely ridiculous man. And what was most important, John remained the only person who could see the pompous Holmes in such a silly and adorable state. The only one who saw the best and the worst of him, loving him just the same, always remaining steadfastly at his side. 

John adjusted his position to have a better view of his husband. He smiled fondly. God, he loved this madman so much that no words could ever convey even a fraction of his affection. John wasn’t the mushy or touchy-feely type, but looking at Sherlock made his heart swell. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that they were married and were raising a child together, a bundle of their mixed genes. Everything felt too good to be true and yet was very real. John knew what a lucky man he was. 

“I know you’re staring.” Sherlock’s slightly slurred voice pulled him out of his reverie. The detective opened his eyes. A playful smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. “Rude.”

“Says the rudest person who ever graced the earth with their presence,” countered John, reaching out to smooth a stray curl away from Sherlock’s forehead. That was the cue for the detective to shift closer to his husband and wrap an arm languidly over his middle while pressing his nose into the crook of John’s neck. Sherlock sighed quietly in contentment. 

“Go back to sleep, love,” John whispered, placing a soft kiss on the man’s dishevelled head. “You had a long night.” 

“Sleeping’s boring,” he muttered. 

“It’s not supposed to be entertaining, you know, it’s supposed to make you function without collapsing to the floor from exhaustion.” 

“Don’t care.” His hand moved to the rim of John’s pyjama pants and slid under it, stroking the warm hip. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this was going. 

“You’re mad,” John said, but not without fond amusement. “Absolutely and utterly bonkers.”

“You like me that way…”

“Sometimes I do,” John agreed, his voice dropping an octave. 

Sherlock let out a strange noise – half-purr and half-chuckle. He lifted his head and left small marks on John’s neck, nipping at his sensitive skin. There was nothing better than John’s taste and his musky scent in the morning when he hadn’t applied the cologne yet. 

John hummed in appreciation, sinking his fingers into his husband’s hair. 

“You sure you’re up for this?” John teased. “I don’t want you to fall asleep in the middle.”

“Oh, I can assure you that I am very _up_ for this.” Sherlock’s response prompted a burst of undignified giggles from John.

“Less bragging, more doing,” John urged him with a challenging glint in his eye. 

He didn’t have to say it twice. Sherlock was as eager to get down to business as he was, the desire widening his pupils. He licked his lips and joined them with John’s, his hand…

_Thud!_

The sound of a five-year-old boy unable to reduce his speed in time and banging the palms of his hands against the door. A half second pause and the handle moved, pressed with far more force than necessary. 

“Papa! Daddy!” A shrill scream full of joy, and then Hamish dashed onto the bed with the speed and impact of a torpedo, his hair sticking out in every direction. 

John and Sherlock had milliseconds to abandon their heated embrace, adjust their clothes and train their expressions to show nothing but innocence. 

“Hi, Mishy. You should be still asleep at this hour,” John said, trying not to speak through his teeth. After all, it wasn’t Hamish’s fault that he had terrible timing. That must be a universal trait of all children. “Why are you up?”

“Sleeping is boring,” came the reply, which elicited in John an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Sherlock’s pout made everything even better. 

John burst out laughing. The great detective's pout became even more prominent.

“Why is Daddy angry?” asked Hamish, his blue eyes moving from one father to the other.

“He’s not angry,” said John, petting Hamish’s head. “He’s simply Sulk McGrump today.” He smiled, seeing the big grin on his son’s face. “But Papa knows how to un-sulk Daddy.”

“Yeah?” Hamish looked at him expectantly as if John was about to share some forbidden knowledge with him. 

“A shower.”

“A shower?” Hamish was surprised. The same comical befuddlement appeared on Sherlock’s face. Only under John’s meaningful gaze did the spark of understanding shine in the detective’s eyes. 

“Yeah, that’s right. A shower. Papa will help Daddy wash away the grouchiness and everything will be fine once again.”

“Can I help wash Daddy too?” asked Hamish naively, earning an adamant and flustered ‘ _No!_ ’ from both of his fathers.

“Ehrm… Stay here, will you, Mishy?” John asked. Hamish nodded. John smiled and kissed his head. “Love you.”

Hamish watched as Papa took Daddy’s hand and lead him to the bathroom. The door closed after them and a moment later the boy heard the steady hum of water that couldn’t entirely muffle Papa’s giggles and Daddy’s deep rumbling chuckle. 

Hamish shook his head and flopped on the bed, spreading his arms and legs like a starfish. His parents could be so silly sometimes. It wasn’t hard to figure out that they were kissing and cuddling in there. After all, Hamish wasn’t stupid, he was quite good at thinking. For some reason Papa and Daddy sometimes liked to snuggle without clothes although the purpose of that still eluded the boy. If they couldn’t get pregnant and get him a brother or a sister then what was the point? Weren’t they cold without their pyjamas? Cuddling with your clothes on was nice too. Adults were weird, they liked to complicate things to an absurd degree. 

Several minutes later, when Hamish was nearly dozing off again from boredom, Papa and Daddy finally emerged from the bathroom. Both were still dripping water from their badly dried hair, both had reddened skin and on both faces he saw the same happy smile with a hint of something naughty. 

“Better, Daddy?” 

“Yes, better.” There could be no mistake that Sherlock was telling the truth because as soon as he approached the bed, he fell down, gathered the boy tightly to his chest and started to tickle him. Hamish shrieked and wriggled, trying to free himself, or at least pretending too. In truth, he liked it. 

“Today is a very nice day, Mishy. How about we go to the park later?” proposed John, when the tickling match ended in a draw and Hamish could breathe again. The boy lay right between them on his side, his head propped on his hand. 

“Yeeees!” boomed Hamish, bouncing excitedly on the mattress and punching the air with his tiny fist. “Maybe we can go on a picnic?”

“A picnic, huh?” John pondered upon the idea, wondering simultaneously where Hamish had even heard about such a thing as a picnic. Must be Mrs Hudson. 

“Yeah! We can take a blanket, a basket and eat something yummy on the grass!”

Seeing the radiant grin on his son’s face, John simply had to smile himself as well. 

“Well, I don’t know. Daddy, what do you think?” John asked his husband. 

It was clear that Sherlock wasn’t as eager to leave the house as the youngest member of their family, but his defences melted under Hamish’s pleading gaze. 

“Oh, okay, okay. We can go…”

“Yaaay!”

“Get dressed, Mishy,” said John. “I’ll make breakfast in a minute.”

The boy sprang out of bed and sped out of the room like a motorboat.

Sherlock smiled and shook his head.

“We’re spoiling him.”

“I don’t see how a family picnic can be considered spoiling. You’re just lazy, face it.” John sweetened the criticism with an affectionate kiss to Sherlock’s cheek. The great detective seemed content.

“I’d rather shower again than go to a park…”

John nudged him playfully.

“Maybe later. It’s easy to get dirty in the park, after all…”

“Daddy!” A loud and impatient shout didn’t allow Sherlock to respond.

The detective sighed. One had to forget about flirting when children were at home. 

“Go and help him.” John kissed his husband once more and sat up, patting Sherlock's thigh to urge him to move. “He’s probably tangled in his jumper again. I’ll fix us some breakfast and then raid the cupboards to see what we can take with us to the park.”

Grudgingly, Sherlock left the warm bed and shuffled barefoot to Hamish’s room to save his son from a fabric disaster.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. You're the best!
> 
> The fic was inspired by [this](http://addignisherlock.tumblr.com/post/140347885816/john-and-sherlock-and-happy-fluff-at-the/) beautiful picture.

The Watson-Holmes family wasted no time in leaving the house. John, holding the basket in one hand and Hamish’s clammy hand in the other, felt quite optimistic about the rest of the day. The little boy had displayed remarkable eagerness and helpfulness while preparing for this outing, which really warmed John’s heart. Granted, Hamish’s assistance was as useless sweet as it was sweet, but the intentions were what counted. The way they all had prepared the picnic together – dusting the basket found somewhere in the recesses of Mrs Hudson’s basement, peeling the fruits (bananas in Hamish’s case, so that he wouldn’t get hurt), and making sandwiches among jokes and laughter – would become a fond memory. Sherlock seemed happy as well, despite his initial reluctance to go outside. All was well.

As soon as they entered the park, Hamish let go of his parents’ hands and dashed to find a good spot for their blanket. Of course he knew not to stray too far from his family, Papa and Daddy had taught him the rules of safety outside. 

John took Sherlock’s warm hand, liking how their fingers seamlessly interlocked with one another. They had stopped paying attention to occasional unkind stares ages ago. 

“His stores of energy are boundless. All this frantic running, manic state… he kind of reminds me of someone,” John said with a smile, far too amused to even attempt any chastising. 

“Ah yes, that senseless bumbling about, I do indeed see a similarity,” Sherlock shot back with a smirk.

“Arse,” John laughed, squeezing his hand a little. Their banters and little jabs were never for real. They never meant those things and didn’t want to really hurt the other. And woe to anyone trying to truly insult one of them. The last person who called Sherlock a freak in John’s presence ended up with a dislocated jaw. 

The park was full on this sunny Saturday morning, so they had to walk for quite a while until they found a relatively peaceful and quiet spot. 

“Papa! Daddy! Here!” Hamish pointed happily to the patch of recently mowed lawn a little farther from the pathway. 

“Good choice, Hamish. No one will bother us,” said Sherlock, forever vary of strangers. 

The little boy didn’t need to hear anything more. He sprinted to his Papa and grabbed a fistful of his striped T-shirt, wanting him to move faster. 

“Don’t expect too much with Papa’s short legs,” warned Sherlock teasingly. 

“I’ve never heard you complaining about my legs when I spread them for you,” John replied in a murmur to Sherlock's ear, so that Hamish wouldn’t hear. 

“True, but your legs weren’t my main focus then.”

“Less talking more walking,” ordered Hamish, causing both of his fathers to laugh. 

When they reached the right spot, preparations commenced. Everyone was occupied with an important task. Sherlock laid out the blanket, making sure that no twig or stone would cause them any discomfort, John pulled out the food in plastic containers from the basket and Hamish ran around chasing a dragonfly. 

“Come on, let’s eat,” said John once everything was ready. Hamish plopped on the blanket, sitting between his parents, and reached into the offered box full of chunks of apples, bananas, pears and grapes. The boy never had any troubles with eating. Despite having his father’s genes when it came to his body type – thin and lanky – he never skipped a meal and often enjoyed a snack between them, rarely disliking something. Both John and his son were omnivorous. Sherlock was a far more fussy eater. This situation had improved after they got together and John forced him to actually eat sometimes, but in the past he'd often wondered if Sherlock was secretly a plant, thriving on photosynthesis alone. John was curious to see what effect the fresh air would have on his husband's eating habits.

Just as expected, Hamish munched on his pear eagerly, the juice dripping on his chin and fingers, and Sherlock picked on one single grape as if it was burning his teeth.

“It’s a fruit, not torture, you know?” John forehead creased. Sherlock cast him a miserable look. John sighed. “You’re such a baby.” He took the grape from Sherlock’s fingers and put it unceremoniously into his husband’s mouth. The look on the detective’s face was undoubtedly triumphant. Arse. 

John turned to his son, ready to offer him a tissue so that he could clean himself up, but Hamish was faster – the boy wiped his face on his sleeve and his sticky fingers on his trousers.

“Well, never mind then…” John sighed, thinking about the ever-expanding heap of clothes to wash.

“Papa, I want to see a squirrel!” Hamish decided, scrambling up to his feet. He didn’t run off, actually waiting for permission. John smiled. Good boy.

“Sure, just don’t go too far, yeah?”

“Yeah, just to those trees!” he said, pointing to a few dainty hazels a couple of yards away. John nodded and the boy skipped in that direction. It was unlikely that he’d find a squirrel there any time soon– or at all – so he and Sherlock had a bit of time to one another. Sherlock immediately used it to lay down with his head in John’s lap. 

“If you want to take a nap, go ahead,” John said, twirling one curl around his finger. He loved playing with Sherlock’s hair. It was so soft and smooth. And it seemed Sherlock liked it as well. 

“Waste of time.”

“Oh?” John raised an eyebrow. “And what other important things do you have to do instead of napping?”

“Anything else. Even staring at you seems like a more interesting alternative.”

John rolled his eyes. 

“Wow, I’m floored by your romanticism. You know how to charm the pants off a guy.” 

For a moment they just stared at one another intensely. And at the same time they started to laugh. They were both utterly ridiculous.

“If it weren’t for Hamish I probably wouldn’t be able to get you to go to the park with me and relax like this,” John said. “You’d be rotting at home, growing mould on my jumper or something like that.”

Sherlock smirked.

“Mhm, probably, yes. Although you're so tiny, that I'd need at least two of your jumpers for my needs.”

John gave him a look. 

“I’m glad that we have Hamish then. For that and many other reasons.”

The detective hummed when John placed a kiss on his forehead. 

The boy, as if summoned by his name, materialized right next to them. His eyes were glistening with excitement. 

“Have you found a squirrel, Mishy?” John asked. 

“No! But a lady over there has a puppy!”

John’s gaze followed in the direction Hamish was pointing. Yes, indeed, on a bench nearby sat a woman in her twenties reading a book. She held a leash in her hand attached to a small, yellowish furball which was at least partly a golden retriever. For a puppy, the dog was surprisingly calm, only sniffing around the bench lazily, preferring to rest in the shadow. 

“Yeah, you’re right, Mishy.”

“Can I pet the dog, Papa?” the boy asked.

John cast a brief glance at Sherlock. He knew that his husband had a history with dogs, a bittersweet one. The detective's face was unreadable, but he nodded his assent. 

“I don’t know, we should ask the lady,” decided John. 

Hamish beamed at him and pulled at his hand to make him hurry up. Sherlock sat up, freeing John. He seemed a little uneasy and John wasn’t sure how to interpret that.

“Maybe Daddy wants to go with you?” 

Sherlock shook his head, avoiding John’s gaze.

“No, go with him, John. I’ll stay and make sure that no one steals our things.”

There was little else to say, so John briefly squeezed his husband’s shoulder and let himself be dragged towards the dog and his owner.

Hamish was a curious child, who didn’t make friends easily, but who had no problems getting what he wanted, using his charm and his boldness. A chip from Sherlock’s stone. For better or for worse. 

The boy marched straight to the reading woman.

“Hello, lady, can I pet your dog?” he asked bluntly. 

The woman lifted her gaze from the book and looked at the little boy with surprise, but being confronted with a pair of blue pleading eyes, she had no other choice but to smile. She glanced at John, who shrugged his shoulders in a ‘Kids, yeah?’ kind of way and smiled at her, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. He had always had a way with women, so it wasn’t a big problem. 

“Yeah, sure,” she said to Hamish. “His name is Frankie. He’s very friendly, likely to lick you to death.” 

Hamish knelt right next to the pup, who sniffed at his extended hand. A few seconds later the boy and the dog were best friends, the dog jumping around Hamish as far as the leash allowed and barking happily. 

“He’s a sweet boy,” said the woman. John, as any parent, wasn’t immune to praises aimed at his child, so he puffed out his chest a bit. 

“Yeah, he is.”

They chatted for a while about this and that while Hamish played right next to the bench with the puppy whose personality resembled that of a cuddly toy. John was actually glad that it was he and not Sherlock who had come here; his husband had little patience for small talk. After some time John noticed the woman checking her watch discreetly. That was their cue to leave. 

“I think it’s time for us to go, Mishy,” John said. Hamish responded with a disappointed whine.

“Do we have to, Papa?” 

Before John could reply, the woman crouched in front of the boy to be at the same level as he was.

“I’m often in the park with Frankie. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon. I think he likes you.”

Her words made the parting of ways easier. Hamish simply nodded with a small smile, treating her words as a promise of future fun. The Watson-Holmeses stood there for a while, watching the woman and the pup go, and then they returned to the blanket. Sherlock lay casually in a languid and affected pose, but his eyes were attentive. 

“Daddy, I played with the dog!” Hamish informed him with a grin, falling on his knees right next to him. He spoke so fast in his excitement that he swallowed some letters. “He’s small, and yellow and his name is Freddie!”

“That’s very nice, Hamish,” Sherlock said, running his hand through the boy’s curls, but the glance he gave John told the man that something was wrong. Having years of experience in dealing with his problematic husband, John immediately figured out what it was. Honestly, he was slightly flattered. Annoyed, but flattered nonetheless. 

“As much as you look lovely in green you really have no reason to be jealous,” John said, sitting beside Sherlock with his legs extended. “We were just chatting about the weather and such.”

Sherlock huffed.

“I am not jealous.”

Yeah, right. 

John leaned closer to him and pecked his cheek affectionately. 

“You know that I love you and only you.”

“Except me!” Hamish protested with the look of adorable indignation on his face. John had to laugh. Ridiculousness and a flair for drama both ran in the Holmes family. 

“Except you, Mishy,” he agreed and gave them both a warm hug. “I love the two of you the most.”

‘Placated and feeling loved’ Sherlock was a happy Sherlock, so the whole incident was quickly forgotten. 

Gray clouds had crept up into the sky, a silent threat of oncoming rain. It was time to head home. They ate the leftovers of fruits and cookies granted graciously by Mrs Hudson and gathered their things. All in all, the picnic turned out to be a huge success, matched only by the radiant grin on Hamish’s face as he ran and sprang a couple of yards in front of his parents on the pathway as they ambled through the park towards Baker Street.

“I’m glad that he was able to play with the dog,” Sherlock said suddenly, his hand holding John’s firmly. 

“Yeah, he looked very happy.” John hesitated. Dogs were kind of a taboo topic, but if Sherlock brought it up first… “Maybe we can think of getting a pup for him.”

Sherlock tensed, alarmed. When he looked at John his eyes were full of worry and probably some residues of past sadness. 

“Dogs don’t live very long. He’ll have to say goodbye to his beloved friend eventually.”

“True, goodbyes are painful,” John agreed with a nod. “But the years they would spend together will leave him a lot of memories that even the sadness can’t erase.”

Sherlock was silent for a long while.

“You’re right, John.”

“I usually am,” John said with a smile, but without a triumphant note. “Well, except for the cases, I’m an idiot when it comes to solving crimes.”

“You’re never an idiot.” There probably wasn’t a bigger compliment that Sherlock could pay someone. The detective let go of John’s hand and wrapped his arm around his waist. John put his head on his husband’s shoulder. Sometimes height differences weren’t that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, please subscribe to the series [Of Consulting Detectives and Their Son](http://archiveofourown.org/series/56327). It is marked as finished because all the stories are very loosely connected, but there will definitely be more fics very soon, scout's honour.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, please subscribe to the series [Of Consulting Detectives and Their Son](http://archiveofourown.org/series/56327). It is marked as finished because all the stories are very loosely connected, but there will definitely be more fics very soon, scout's honour. And the next chapter of this fic will be posted in a matter of days.


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